


spirit of my silence

by teddyaltmeme



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, idk this is just blake being a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:28:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22414006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teddyaltmeme/pseuds/teddyaltmeme
Summary: If Blake is being romantic, he thinks he must’ve loved Schofield from the second he first saw him- first heard his voice- because he can’t imagine knowing Schofield and not loving him. If he’s being realistic, though, he knows it’s not true.
Relationships: Lance Corporal Schofield/Lance Corporal Blake, William Schofield/Thomas Blake
Comments: 13
Kudos: 360





	spirit of my silence

**Author's Note:**

> Blake’s kinda no thoughts head empty but i refuse to believe he isn’t a hopeless romantic bc his one braincell is definitely heart shaped and i wanted smth from his perspective 
> 
> no surprise the title is another sufjan lyric also no surprise that i wrote this mostly @ 5am

“ _Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them._”  
  
\- Richard Siken

* * *

If Blake is being romantic, he thinks he must’ve loved Schofield from the second he first saw him- first heard his voice- because he can’t imagine knowing Schofield and not loving him. If he’s being realistic, though, he knows it’s not true.

He’s not really sure how he felt when he first saw him, nor is he sure what exactly drew him to Schofield. Maybe it was just that he seemed lonely. It’d been a challenge, at first, just to get Schofield to acknowledge him let alone talk to him- but Blake’s never backed down from anything.  
It was just a case of wearing him down really, took about a week but eventually he got a laugh out of him. Blake likes to think he’s pretty charming; confident, optimistic, and hopefully funny. He knows he’s at least moderately handsome too- even if he has a few insecurities. Though none of those things had seemed to matter to Schofield, he’d fallen to persistency alone, likely aware he wasn’t going to get rid of Blake any time soon.

If he had to guess, it was that first laugh that kick-started whatever he feels for Schofield now. What began as a challenge became an obsession. He needed to hear it again. Of course he’s heard it many times since, but it never seems any less magical. 

They’re somewhere on the edge of dawn right now; the sun barely reaching the horizon. The only heat coming from a small fire sat between them, over which Schofield brings some water to a boil. He’s making tea, his tabloid tin already fished from his pack. Schofield told him once that it was one of the few things that still brought him comfort, that reminded him of home without making his stomach turn. Blake has never liked tea, but he drinks it anyways because Schofield always offers it. It’s worth the bitterness just to see Schofield warm with it. The taste has become synonymous with ache in between his lungs. It’s like the poetry he doesn’t understand, but begs Schofield to recite to him as he chases sleep because the last thing he wants to hear is his voice. 

It’s funny isn’t it, how such simple things get so complicated that they all but swallow you up. It’s just Schofield, it’s just a drink, it’s just another sleepless night- but it grows within him until it grows out, bigger than it ever should’ve been. He supposes he’ll tell Schofield about it one day, when it’s too big to ignore, but important things never come out smooth; there’s never quite the right words to say exactly what you mean. “I love you,” isn’t enough, but what else is there. 

Blake knows no good can come of the way he looks at Schofield when all backs are turned, but he can’t bring himself to avert his gaze. Whatever God decided this was wrong has clearly never met a man like Schofield. If he had seen the soft bow of his lips, and had heard the wonder of his voice and felt the tenderness of his touch, he would never have been so cruel. 

He’s certain Schofield must’ve figured him out already, at least in regards to the tea, because he’s never been all that good at hiding his emotions and Schofield is wickedly perceptive. When Schofield looks at him it feels as if he’s truly being seen- like he’s looking past the physical to the other side where all of Blake’s secrets stow themselves away.

He reminds him of Joe in that way, they both seem to see right through him. At least he knows that Joe knows- because Joe caught him once, with another boy’s tongue in his mouth. All he’d said was to be careful, but Blake isn’t very good at cautious. No matter how hard he tries to keep himself hidden, there’s always that part of him that can’t stop looking. 

‘You’re very quiet today,’ Schofield muses, handing him a cup. As he takes it their fingers brush and that little bit of Schofield’s skin against his is somehow more painful than the hot metal.

‘Brains stopped working,’ Blake excuses knowing it’s not true at all, if anything it’s on overtime.

‘That’s what happens when you don’t use it,’ Will teases. With the light of the fire glinting in his eyes, he seems more alive that usual.

‘Oi!’ He huffs, frowning into his tea in an attempt to disguise the wave of affection that hits him. To admit he likes it when Schofield teases him is a bit redundant when he likes everything Schofield does.

‘I don’t like it when you’re quiet,’ Will confesses on the tail end of a laugh, ‘It makes me feel like you’re up to something.’ 

‘I’m plotting your downfall,’ Or perhaps just ensuring his own. 

‘You’ve already caused it,’ In the quiet, damp air it almost sounds like a confession. Blake desperately hopes it is- that there may be some sliver of a chance that Schofield might love him too. All alone in the soft, orange glow of their bucket-fire it seems as if it could be true.

‘Sco-‘ Blake starts, not knowing what he wants to say, ‘You ever think about things you shouldn’t?’

‘I’m not sure I know what you mean.’

‘Like-‘ There are two choices he can make here. If he is a brave man, like his mother says, it should be easy to speak his mind. If he is weak, as he so often feels he is, he’ll lie. He wants to be brave, ‘Like other men.’ 

‘Why, do you?’

‘I-‘

‘Sometimes...’ Schofield doesn’t look at Blake when he says it, his voice edged with caution- maybe even defensiveness.

Blake wishes he had Schofields sight, then maybe he’d be able to see through him too. To know him completely. To find the parts he keeps locked up so tightly Schofield himself can’t get them open. But as it stands, Schofield’s thoughts evade him and he’s as lost as ever. Has he found the admission in Blake’s question, or does he just think Blake caught his eyes lingering too long on some other soldier. 

_ He wants to be brave. _

‘I think about you,’ He watches Schofield stiffens and for a moment he thinks he might leave.

‘You really shouldn’t,’ Schofield turns to look at him now, something sympathetic about the set of his face. The flash of shame that hits Blake does more to warm his body than the fire before him. 

‘I know,’ He feels more like a child now than he has ever in his life, foolish and scolded for it.

‘Nor should I think about you,’ At that moment Schofield looks as if he might be an angel; the back of him lit up by the rising sun and the front bathed in firelight. It hurts more than ever to look at him, ‘But I do.’ 

Perhaps that’s all there is to be said on the matter. What else is there. Nothing could possibly best those three words;  _ but I do_. 

Schofield rises slowly and for the second time Blake thinks he might leave, but he just repositions; his body coming to rest at Blake’s side. Just a little too close. Schofield places his hand atop Blake’s, tentatively, as if he were afraid to scare him away. When he slips his fingers between Blake’s it feels like an apology. It’s such a careful thing it almost makes Blake angry. He’s sick and tired of careful. If he dies out here and all he’s ever been is careful, then what was the point of living. What is shame to the dead.

‘But you won’t kiss me,’ It comes out accusatory and petulant, but he thinks that if the world is to be so unfair he’s entitled to a little bit of bitterness. Even if he knows it isn’t Schofield’s fault. Blake turns to look at him as he says it and a revelation hits; maybe he does know Schofield after all. The slight furrow of his brow feels familiar, as if it were his own. Perhaps he’d read too deeply into all the quiet, projected some unfathomable depth onto his stoicism, when it meant as little as his own endless chatter. There is no mystical element to Schofield; he’s just a man with a heart that beats like his. If this is the truth, it does nothing to calm the way he feels. 

Schofield kisses him then, a response devoid of words but not of meaning. His hands are rough; calloused and scarred from use, but his lips are as soft as the petals of Blake’s mother’s cherry trees.

‘Tom,’ Schofield mutters as he pulls away, so quiet that Blake almost doesn’t hear it. To be called by his name is painfully sweet; far more intimate than any four-letter word could ever be and twice as profane.

‘ _Will_.’


End file.
